" "May I trust you?" cried Thames, eagerly. ’ ‘Why not?’ Gerald asked straightly. As the Wastrel rushed, Spurlock sidestepped, swept the ball into his hand, set himself and threw it. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. ‘Who telled you that?’ ‘Do not ask me impertinent questions, but only go you and fetch this daughter here to me.
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